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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739456">Drunk on the Sweetness of You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire'>oneforyourfire</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>EXO (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aliens, Breeding Kink, M/M, Rimming, Tentacles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:13:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,677</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27739456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>this is just shamelessly handwavey alien anatomy for my shameless handwavey alien porn, and i will <i>not</i> be justifying myself at this time</p><p>but!!!!! pcy's nontentacled genitals (his mating sheath) resemble a pussy and bbh eats him out in act that isn't cunnilingus but isn't <i>not</i> cunnilingus so please be aware if that's something that you're not interested in reading</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Drunk on the Sweetness of You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is just shamelessly handwavey alien anatomy for my shameless handwavey alien porn, and i will <i>not</i> be justifying myself at this time</p><p>but!!!!! pcy's nontentacled genitals (his mating sheath) resemble a pussy and bbh eats him out in act that isn't cunnilingus but isn't <i>not</i> cunnilingus so please be aware if that's something that you're not interested in reading</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chanyeol’s nude already, splayed open on Baekhyun’s station-issue sheets. Long and lean and bioluminescent, he glitters prettily on the deep, deep blue of the wrinkled cotton, in the deep, deep red glow of the blood moons. </p><p>His beauty is sharp, striking, staggering. Large, liquid eyes.  Severe cheekbones. Pink mouth plush, parted  around the glint of his too-sharp teeth. </p><p>He's ethereal. Untouchable. But so painfully, painfully real. So painfully, painfully his. </p><p>And rumpled, too, kiss-bruised, too, flashing black, white, fuschia, the same dark, dark blue of their sheets, he takes Baekhyun’s breath away. </p><p>Their waste management console hums as Baekhyun settles between his trembling legs. Medical bay strong. The strongest, deepest clean for the mess he’s about to make of his sloppy, beautiful, beautiful boy. </p><p>Baekhyun spreads him slow, slow, teasing, stroking his hands slowly, slowly, teasingly inward and fuck, fuck, he fucking <i>loves</i> this. </p><p>Chanyeol, his Chanyeol, he trembles apart at the first teasing graze of Baekhyun's lips on his thigh. Moaning shaky, shaky, sweet, he bumbles forward for it, wants it, deserves it, his pretty, perfect Yeollie. </p><p>Lip catching between his teeth, hands smoothing over raised, quivering skin, Baekhyun wants it, too. Deserves it, too. Bumbles for it, too. His pretty, perfect Yeollie. </p><p>It's not a pussy, Chanyeol had protested the first time Baekhyun had eaten him out, ages, ages, ages ago. Anticipatory. Preemptive. Defensive. It’s not, he’d continued, softer, a stutter, an appeal as he’d arched delicately towards Baekhyun’s mouth. Don’t call it that. Don’t think of it as that. Because Chanyeol isn’t a human, not like Baekhyun. Because similar, it doesn’t mean it’sthe exactly the same. </p><p>And it isn’t. And he doesn’t. </p><p>It’s convergent evolution. Similar form, different function, but he's sensitive and responsive in the same way, pretty and delicate and quivering to the touch in the same way, too. Slick, too. Warm, too. Thin, thin skin dribbling a heady, heady musk that makes Baekhyun’s head spin, too.</p><p>It's for protection, his mating sheath. Because the oceans in Chanyeol's home, they're subglacial cruel, subglacial harsh, subglacial ruthless. Storming tumults fathoms, fathoms deep beneath layers and layers of ice. A necessity in that brutal, brutal world. Extraneous now, in this home, the home they’ve made. But perfect, but beautiful. </p><p>The skin is thin there, thinnest, thin enough to see the tiny network of blue blood coursing through his veins, see the way that slickness glistens, pools iridescent, pretty, pink. </p><p>They don't do this, Chanyeol's kind. And the others—others before Baekhyun—they hadn’t wanted to either. Even in the porn that Baekhyun has downloaded on their federation servers on the lonely, lonely nights that duty—discovery—Chanyeol away. No, they fuck there. Finger there. But not this. Not that he’s found. </p><p>And it feels like something theirs. Something they’ve invented.  </p><p>A dark, dark curl of pleased possession thrums through Baekhyyun’s skin, tight, tight, tight as he mouths along Chanyeol’s mating sheath. Parting him with his fingers, easinging into it with teasing little flicks of his tongue, Baekhyun groans, squeezes Chanyeol’s hand when he scrambles down to paw at his hair, arching, gasping, gasping.  </p><p>Baekhyun brushes a kiss against his wrist, his palm, and the fins scrape against his parted lips, chromatophores, too, shift, brush as they contrast, expand. His next moan is <i>shattered</i>, fingers trembling. </p><p>And they don't do this, but Baekhyun, Chanyeol, they do this. </p><p>Chanyeol shudders with a rumbling moan when Baekhyun takes his first, slow, savoring taste. Startled still, disbelieving still as if it’s the first time still, as if he can’t make sense of the sensations still. </p><p>Coaxing open with lingering curls of his tongue, Baekhyun teases over his belly, where he rises, rises, rises, trembles, pinning as Chanyeol quakes. </p><p>And he moans. Then again. Then again. </p><p>Spreading him more open and filthy and helpless and beautiful, Baekhyun moans, too, rumbling, too, buries himself between his thighs. </p><p>And fuck, it isn’t, and he doesn’t, but it feels indulgent in the same way, gorging himself on the sharp, sharp saltiness of him. Slick and velvet hot, fruit-ripe, nectar-thick, clenching helplessly the harder Baekhyun licks, flicks, fucks, wants, wants, wants. Viscous, it pools on his tongue, smears into his lips, his chin, his nose, spilling, too, across his greedy, greedy fingers, tingling and musky and sticky and so, so dizzyingly warm.</p><p>Chanyeol’s hips arch weakly into the pressure. And he blooms slow and trembling on his tongue. Unraveling, stitch by quivering, gasping, gasping stitch. </p><p>And fuck he loves this. The way the delicate flesh parts and quivers against his mouth. The rush of thick warmth on his tongue. The slow, devastating way he opens up around his fingers, too. The way his own fingers tangle in his hair, webbing dragging just so along his scalp, a grounding sting as he loses himself in the heady process. The push and pull of his own tongue. The insistent tug of fingers in his hair. </p><p>The tremble of thighs around his head. And the pulsing, pulsing ache of his own cock. </p><p>Baekhyun hauls him even closer, groaning as Chanyeol—taut, taut with tension—quakes and quakes and quakes.</p><p>And it's impossible how perfect he is. It’s excruciating how perfect he is. </p><p>Tastes like mate, he tells him. Tastes like forever, he tells him. Tastes like mine, he tells him. As the tiny muscles dance helplessly, restlessly, recklessly against his tongue.</p><p>His, Baekhyun thinks, helpless, restless, reckless. Hasn’t ever been more his. Reduced to trembling puppet limbs, tremulous moans, a portrait of tremor and torment and tantalizing, tantalizing want.  As Baekhyun coaxes him open, out. </p><p>Baekhyun moans at the first, tentative press against his lips, a wriggle, weak, wanton, testing, as Chanyeol's belly heaves with a broken, broken gasp. Baekhyun parts his lips in encouragement, succulent, savoring, loves this, too. All of him. Every quivering, warm, wet, messy centimeter of him. </p><p>"Mate," he breathes, coaxing, cajoling, against the engorged, throbbing head. “Chosen One. My big, beautiful boy." </p><p>And the tip of another brushes his lips. Then another. Then another. Then Baekhyun, whimpering, loses count.  </p><p>But, he's got five and a mating tentacle, six total.  The perfect amount, perfect for him. All for him. Give him. Give him. Give him. </p><p>He curls his lips around the bravest, suckles once, twice, moans deliberately as he does. Lets the vibration rumble wet and deep against the sensitive head, where slickness beads in a pretty iridescent pink. He licks sloppily there with hard, quick jabs of his tingling tongue. Pants. Licks. Pants. Licks. </p><p>And it provokes the most monumental shudder, the huskiest, heaviest moan yet. </p><p>"Gonna fuck me?" He rasps.  "Gonna give me what I want? What you promised?" A taunt. Or a threat. Or a tremulous plea. </p><p>“Baekhyun,” he says. So helplessly, helplessly raw. Then <i>Baekhyun</i> once more. </p><p>And Baekhyun wants to sink into him, too, fuck him sobbing, wants it all with him—impossibly. Every single way he can. Ways he can’t, too. </p><p>But he'd promised. </p><p>"My hatchling," he cajoles, coaxes around the thick, thick slick coating his lips, chin, nose, fuck, <i>fuck</i>. "My baby, give me, give me, come on." Mouthing deliberate, dizzied, desperate over the swollen, dribbling head. "Let me see. Let me have it. Don't be greedy with your mate."</p><p>Because it's different from when Baekhyun fucks him. The planning needed. The materials. The time. The discussions. Negotiations. This many. Here and here and here. This hard. </p><p>But he'd promised. But Baekhyun wants it. But give it, give it, give it. </p><p>Chanyeol's hips buck, voice breaks, finger tangle, tug, tug, tug. </p><p>Baekhyun's head spins, and he sucks him even deeper, slicker, hotter, sloppier, gagging, moaning, wants it, fuck, give it to him, give it, Yeollie, fuck. He'd promised. Can't be selfish with his mate.</p><p>Wants it here. Wants it now. Wants it this hard. </p><p>And Chanyeol—big, big, strong, strong, fuck, fuck—he’s dragging him up, down, hard, pressing hard, sloppy kisses to his eyelids, his cheekbones, his nose, finally his mouth. Before pinning him to the bed. </p><p>Tipping back, Baewkhyun presents himself the way he's seen in his anatomy books, post expansion editions. Splays open, hips arched, arms thrown back, supplication, an offering, a challenge. </p><p>Different, different species, but above him, Chanyeol blinks once, twice, bumbling, bumbling forward to pull him further apart, hefting him onto his hips. So fucking big, so fucking strong, fuck. Fuck. </p><p>And his tentacles, they've fully emerged now, all of them, swollen thick with arousal and pulsing and pulsing and pulsing. </p><p>Strung out, dazed, worn thin, thin, thin, Baekhyun clambers for him. </p><p>The chromatophores flare beneath Chanyeol’s skin, flickering red. Black. Blue. </p><p>Chanyeol makes his body flare, too. Spark to life, too. And burn and burn and burn. </p><p>His lips tingle. Jaw, too. Tongue, too. Ache, too. But Baekhyun is greedier for even more, dragging him down, mouth first. </p><p>Chanyeol’s teeth are sharper, tongue thicker, longer, and the taste of him still makes Baekhyun's head spin as he licks his way greedily inside, dragging his tongue deliberately against the sharpness of his fangs, swallowing Chanyeol’s shaky, shaky moans. </p><p>Baekhyun squeezes once, scratches his fingernails over the edge of a sucker. Sharp. Mean. A reminder. </p><p>"It's mine," he insists. A reminder, too. "They're mine." Groping out for them. Clumsy. Bumbling. </p><p>The thickest—his favorite—it spasms when he touches it, coils around his wrist when Baekhyun strokes just <i>so</i>, pulsing, pulsing. “Give them. Give them.” </p><p>“Yours,” he confirms, shuddering out a devastated whimper. “All of me. Yours.” </p><p>There are adhesive hydration patches on his sides, along the sharp protrusions of his gills, cool and clammy to the touch, and he trembles when Baekhyun brushes against them, thighs scraping there as he coaxes him forward. </p><p>And Chanyeol’s hands tighten around his waist, scraping, sharp, stinging, clumsy. Bumbling. Righting. A tell. Even as his face tilts, sets, cheekbones sharp, eyes dazed, dazed, dark, dark, dark. Determined and too beautiful. </p><p>He can do it, he reassures him. He <i>will</i> do it. Can mount him. Fill him up. Mate him. Breed him. Can fuck him dripping and ruined. </p><p>Because so often, it's Chanyeol who wants to be mounted. Stuffed full. To be mated, bred, fucked dripping and ruined. Begs for it most days, Baekhyun’s fingers, his cock, the assorted dildos—post expansion species inclusive—they've collected over the years. Feels best, most loved, most beautiful when he's plugged up for him, used up by him, marked and sloppy and filthy for him. </p><p>But he’d promised. But he can. </p><p>Arms at his waist, mouth at his throat, he slides messy and hot along his trembling skin. Two over his parted thighs, grip loose but arresting. And another two slither up to squeeze at his arms. </p><p>Chanyeol allows him a singular, shuddering grind up, down, before tightening, arresting, hefting higher, hauling him forward, up. </p><p>He breathes past the painful, painful shuddering jolt of arousal. Whimpers in encouragement, in entitlement, in breathless, breathless, choking desperation.</p><p>For that brief, glittering, glorious, terrifying, breathless, breathless moment of arrested suspension—helpless, helpless, weightless, weightless, floating, floating, filthy, nothing to ground him , only Chanyeol, his Chosen One, his mate—before Chanyeol breaks and wrenches him closer, pants into his neck something rough and low and foriegn, the language of the violent, violent tides. </p><p>And his second favorite tentacle slithers up to his mouth, grooves catching, dragging, and Baekhyun groans as he twists to taste it. Just barely, barely able to manage around the tension of Chanyeol’s hold. And fuck, fuck, fuck. </p><p>Chanyeol’s gaze is gauzy, lashes heavy. Prettiest like this. </p><p>But <i>watch me</i>, he coaxes. Watch your mate. </p><p>His second favorite, it curls clumsy and bumbling and heavy around his throat, just briefly, just exhilaratingly too tight before loosening enough to push into his mouth. The suckers catch, heave, tug at his bruised lips, scrape against his teeth and Baekhyun moans as he fumbles forward to suckle, swallow deeper. </p><p>Give it to me deeper. Don't be selfish. Give me. </p><p>His mouth aches with the stretch of it, but he loves the thickness of it on this tongue, the musk of it, the way he smears, the way he drips, and how deep, deep, deep he goes. </p><p>Baekhyun gags, takes it, gags, takes it.</p><p>Give them to me. Give them all to me. Don’t you dare deny me, Yeollie. </p><p>And twisting back, too, moaning, moaning, he gropes out for his favorite. Rocks. Swivels. Sloppy, hot, slick, that same heady, heady, heady mess smearing along his skin, teasing over his cock, over his balls, his rim. Fuck, fuck, Yeollie, fuck. </p><p>Choking, quaking, he grinds slowly, stutteringly down. Pauses there, swiveling, slow, smooth, loving the cursory stretch. Righting himself. Exhaling breaking, breaking, broken. He clambers. He clutches.</p><p>Chanyeol's moan, it’ s breaking, breaking, broken, too, beautiful, weak, greedy, greedy. </p><p>But it's Baekhyun that is. More, most. </p><p>He’s greediest like this. Wants them all, all for him. Wants it, give it, take me, take me. </p><p>Useless, helpless, mindless, he squirms, squeezes again in reassurance. Blinks blearily at Chanyeol, pinned beneath him, flushed, writhing, straining, beautiful, beautiful. His perfect, perfect love. Letting him. Letting him. Tilting up into it as he breathes harshly against his chest. Tentacles clenching, unclenching. Just, just—</p><p>The one in his throat shifts to tangle in his hair. Wet and hot against his ear.  A pulse. A heartbeat. Tense. Tense. Tense. </p><p>"Come on," he says. </p><p>"Give me," he says.</p><p>"Don't be greedy," he says. </p><p>And fuck, it's been so fucking long. And fuck, he’d <i>promised</i>. </p><p>Bumbling, scrambling, Baekhyun squeezes over the nape of his neck, drags his fingernails delicately over the indentation there, watches the way Chanyeol’s eyes flutter. </p><p>He cups his cheek, murmurs a soft, soft, tender, tender <i>Baekhyun</i>. </p><p>“Chanyeol,” he manages, rasped, rough, wrecked. “Mate.” </p><p>But Chanyeol, he always, always takes his time with it, in increments, step by quivering step. Always, always kisses along his chest, his throat as he does. </p><p>His hands are soft on his jawline, too, coaxing him closer as he shifts, slowly, slowly, slowly. </p><p>He teases him in stuttering, stuttering pulses, insists in the aftermath that it’s for his sake, easing, coaxing, smearing, dripping, coating, and Baekhyun is so impossibly wet. It sluices along his thighs, his wrists, drips along his throat, his chin, slick and sticky-hot as he jerks forward in tiny, aborted little bucks. </p><p>The ridges catch and drag. So much, much, much, and Chanyeol tilts up to swallow his wounded, wanton whimpers, murmuring softly. Heedless of the helpless little moans Baekhyun keeps  pressing into the seam of his mouth. Babbling. Mindless little praises. Mindless little encouragements. Mindless little taunts.</p><p>And oh, the minute, incremental stretch, widening, widening to the point of just, just exactly enough. Just, just exactly too much. </p><p>That initial push, searing and so, so impossibly thick, it always punches the air from his lungs, always makes his entire body spasm. So much, much, much, a glittering edge of pain to it. Even as he hitches his hips back to take it, yes, yes, please. Loves the sting of it, the stinging sharpness of it that halting, heaving stretch, fuller than Baekhyun has ever been, as full as Baekhyun can ever manage. Just, just, just—</p><p>The other tentacles shift, too. Around his waist, along his spine, comforting, grounding, and Baekhyun loves him too much to bear. But bears it, bears it, bears it. </p><p>And beneath him like this, disheveled and glimmering and flushed and wanting, wanting, wanting, he’s the most beautiful thing that Baekhyun has ever seen, too beautiful to bear. But Baekhyun, he bears that, too. </p><p>He clenches, loves the harshness of Chanyeol's hiss, low and dark as he twists, grinds back, weak, wanton, wanting. </p><p>And Chanyeol, his pretty, perfect, perfect Yeollie, fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s pressing his way deeper inside, once, twice, a twisting motion that makes his body arc. Steady, steady, swiveling, stroking, stroking. </p><p>But testing still. Taunting still. Denying still. </p><p>Baekhyun was promised drenched sheets, scarred bed frames, jostled picture frames, a humming, overworked cleaning system and beneath him or above him or all around him, his Chosen One gasping, gasping. </p><p>He was promised mounting. Breeding. Fucking. Dripping. Ruined.</p><p>"Come on," he rasps, chokes, whimpers, begs, begs, begs. "Come on. Give me."</p><p>Don’t let absolutely anything stop you, he means. Fuck me like you mean it, he means. You promised, he means. </p><p>Baekhyun squeezes once, scratches—mean, sharp—along the edge of one engorged sucker, and Chanyeol is hissing out a moan, shifting his grip, hauling him forward. </p><p>And Baekhyun waits the two, three breathless, aching, awful, awful beats before Chanyeol stops denying him, denying himself, too. </p><p>Chanyeol fucks him hard, fucks him fast from the start. Shoves back into his mouth, in the same breath he shoves inside Baekhyun’s body. Uses the tentacles around his ankles, his wrists to drag him forward, back. Rough. Rattling. </p><p>Wracked with quakes, mated, claimed, broken, he's split open, stuffed full to bursting, begging still for more. Demanding it around the choking, selfish, selfish push of Chanyeol in his mouth, his ass. Rough. Ruined. Fucking him rough. Ruined. </p><p>Baekhyun gasps for it, moans for it, whimpers and trembles and jerks and clambers for it. Lurches against the tight, slick, sticky, sticky heat of Chanyeol’s grip, quivering, twisting sloppily over the thickness pushing into his mouth. As he’s tossed back and forth and fucked and gagged and fucked and gagged, boneless, babbling. </p><p>It's nearly too, too sharp, the pleasure, an onslaught, relentless, nearly too, too much, drowning, drowning. But with Chanyeol, it feels like flying, too, burning, too, living, too—finally, finally, finally. </p><p>Wants more still. Wants urgency. Wants instinct. Desire—ruthless, relentless—with its fangs and its claws. Wants it more demanding. Meaner. Pure cruel, selfish desire. Wants Chanyeol to fuck him careless and reckless, fuck him the way he would a mate, the way he should his mate. And dripping. And ruined. </p><p>The bed knocks against the wall with the force of itl. A staccato. Baekhyun’s hitching sobs, too. Chanyeol’s moans, too. </p><p>And the tablets on their nightstand crash to the floor. Their badges, frequency operated buttons, too. Picture frames, too. </p><p>The tentacle curled around his ankle falls away—tellingly—and Baekhyun slips, scrambles, moans in understanding when Chanyeol wobbles, whimpers. Fucks inside that much faster. Because his baby, his beautiful, beautiful love, he needs. Falters. Heaving. Sharper, sharper, sharp. </p><p>And Baekhyun likes it when he gets lost like this, likes it when he gets selfish, all messy, reckless, heavy, ruthless thrusts, and clumsy, trembling limbs and sharp, sharp fingers and teeth, likes him gone, swept up and violent and selfish and perfect for it. Likes him real. Loves him. Loves him. Loves him.</p><p>And the violence of it. The brutality. The selfish, selfish, savage severity of it. It’s too much to bear.  Too much to last. </p><p>Yes. Yes. <i>Yes</i>. </p><p>Baekhyun, he scrapes at the sky, claws at Chanyeol's skin and he quakes and cries out and chokes with it.</p><p>And Chanyeol, Chanyeol, Chosen One—</p><p>His tentacles tighten suddenly, harden, spearing, cruel, cruel, harsh, and Baekhyun chokes, bucks, takes, takes, takes in those breathless, breathless seconds before Chanyeol is trembling, clambering, clamoring, coming, coming, coming—too. </p><p>It’s startling still, hot, hot, hot, hot enough to burn its way through his mate’s protective proteins, to leave Baekhyun jerking, gasping, gasping through the bright, bright burst of it. Whimpering, taking, taking. </p><p>Perfect, perfect Yeollie. </p><p>And the bedsheets and the bed and the walls and the vinyl they’d laid down to cover their rug, their screens and Chanyeol and Baekhyun are <i>drenched</i>. </p><p>He twists, clenches, wrings him dry, dry, spent. </p><p>And spent, he collapses. Spent, Baekhyun does, too. Falls into him, his Chanyeol, his gravity. </p><p>And he’s luxurious, ethereal in his ruin. His, his, his. His mate. </p><p>And Baekhyun, weak and ruined as he’s coaxed back into the sheets, loves the way Chanyeol moans, pets clumsy, clumsy over his face, loves the way he flushes purple, pink, baby blue, loves the way the little photophores beneath his skin sparkle to life, flickering, too. Weak. Inelegant. Beautiful. </p><p>And it’s weak, inelegant, beautiful, perfectly, perfectly Yeollie, the way he crawls between Baekhyun's spread, trembling legs. </p><p>Lolling back, Baekhyun thrums in anticipation.  </p><p>It's something only mates, only <i>Chosen Ones</i> do. Something so painfully, painfully intimate that Chanyeol had burst into tears the first time Baekhyun had done it, so overcome with emotion, explaining around these heavy, hitching, heaving, helpless, helpless sobs that maybe Baekhyun didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—but this was saying he wanted to spend the rest of his life with him, this was saying that he was something worth keeping forever. </p><p>Baekhyun hadn't meant it then. Couldn't have. But means it now. Whimpers, knowing that Chanyeol means it, too. Wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Thinks he’s worth keeping forever. Feels more than skin can hold, too. The clawing chaos and catastrophe of his need sometimes, his affection sometimes, fierce, white-hot, violent. The devastation of his desire. The infinite crushing vastness of it, bone-deep, soul-deep. </p><p>Humans use words, though, and Chanyeol does, too. Tells him he loves him. That he’s perfect like this, Baekhyunnie. That his mate is everything he could ever, ever want. </p><p>Baekhyun like this—sloppy and loose and trembling around his skimming fingers, legs quaking where they land on his curled shoulders. </p><p>The protrusions there scrape against his calves as Chanyeol maneuvers him, careful, careful, deliberate. Glides slowly, slowly up his thighs, careful, careful, deliberate, and Baekhyun’s whimper comes heavier, heavier, heaviest at the first slow, slow, careful, careful, deliberate curl of his tongue. </p><p>Easing, teasing, and thick and slick and excruciatingly warm, excruciatingly long, long, long. </p><p>Baekhyun palms clumsily at his cock, fingers spasming as they curl, drag. He hisses through the sharp, sharp sting of oversensitivity as he strokes himself, arches into the pressure of Chanyeol's perfect mouth at his ass, cleaning him out with insistent pushes of his warm, wet, hot, hot, hot tongue. </p><p>Through his dazed, tear-blurred eyes, as he quivers decadently, desperately apart, Baekhyun gazes out their window, to that haunting, haunting, deep, deep red and burns and burns and burns.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>chasing the ever elusive writing muse with self indulgent porn, as one does</p><p>happy birthday, giraffe</p></blockquote></div></div>
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